


A Bit Thick, Strangely Mystic

by orphan_account



Category: SISTAR
Genre: Colorism, F/F, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Am I not enough for you anymore?" Bora pouts.The joke hits a little too close to home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted in 2012 and has underwent minor revision since. The title is from "Holiday" by SISTAR.
> 
> For transparency's sake, I'm white, and I do regret writing a fic that deals with colorism and the fetishization of dark-skinned POC, since I'm not equipped to approach the subject with nuance or personal experience. Keep this in mind if you decide to read this fic.

"No offense," Dasom begins dryly, which exactly one hundred percent of the time (" _Nothing_ is exactly one hundred percent of _anything_ ; it's a mathematical impossibility," Hyorin had told her once, and Soyou had snipped back, "Glasses don't make you a professor!") means that Bora is going to be offended, "but why Yoona?"

"Why Gina?" Bora asks after a moment. She doesn't want to talk about it, has, in fact, perfected the art of not talking about it when she doesn't want to. You can only be so candid before you realize that the most glamorous women maintain a modicum of mystery, and Invincible Youth has convinced her that there's no such thing as a naturally candid celebrity, anyway. "Why Chaerin, or Hyuna? Why anyone else? Because that's what the question asked for, duh."

"Oh, I thought you were going to get existential for a moment," Dasom says, words rolling on a wave of sarcastic relief. She can smell Hyorin's cooking wafting in from the kitchen into the bedroom, and her innards pucker like a mouth on the first bite of a lemon. If Bora can hear her stomach whine, she doesn't say anything. "And stop trying to red herring me, it never works. Why Yoona? Is it because -- "

"No," Bora says, and then immediately regrets the interruption. Dasom preys on gun jumping with all of the fervor of bloodsport. Maybe she should channel some of that quiet, calculated glee into something useful, like _actual_ sports, or maybe basket weaving.

Dasom prolongs her attack, and it makes Bora tense up. "I chose Gina because of her boobs," she says, icily. "I would kill a man for half of one tit -- or a quarter, even, like, like, apple slices!" There's a gleam in her eye that Bora hasn't seen since the last time they -- well.

"Am I not enough for you anymore?" Bora pouts.

The joke hits a little too close to home. "Do you think you're not enough for me?" Dasom says without pause, and there goes her intention to draw out Bora's discomfort with equal parts malice and curiosity. "Yoona is thin and pale, did you think I wouldn't draw conclusions from that answer? Bora, I -- "

"I think supper's ready," Bora says abruptly.

\--

Bora can barely eat, and Soyou notices.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. Bora appreciates, at least, the presence of an option.

"No," she says. "I had a big breakfast." It's not a lie. She and Hyorin had walked to the nearest convenience store and came home with more cereal than the four of them could eat before their expiration dates.

"Oh," Soyou says, already going back to her meal, "okay."

Dasom is eying her, has been all meal, and Bora can't tell if it's in envy -- their dietary restrictions are nothing new, but Dasom has a small egg in the center of an equally small plate, and Bora's noodles are getting cold -- or contemplation.

Bora sets her utensils down.

\--

"Sometimes, you're such a child," Dasom tells her, sitting on the foot of the bed in front of Bora. They've both showered and slipped into sleepwear, and Dasom's bare face makes her look tired, coldly maternal. "You make me guess what's wrong and when I guess right you act like it's my fault for knowing you so well -- "

Bora wants to stay silent, wants to deny Dasom the satisfaction of a straight answer, but Dasom says, "Do you think I want her instead," and --

"It's not always about you!" she yells, the volume of her voice making the both of them flinch. "You don't know what it's _like_ ; you have the luxury of -- "

"Oh, I have the luxury?" Dasom snaps. "Don't talk to me about luxury, Yoon Bora, not when you're on, on that stupid _show_ , and you and Hyorin -- "

"Oh, is this what this is about? My popularity? Are you that jealous of me? It's not a -- " here, her voice catches in a way that makes her feel out of sorts " -- a, a _luxury_ , like you seem to think it is; you don't know what it's like." Her voice cracks; she feels like she's going to pass out, her head spinning madly, her cheeks and chest flushed with anger. "They think I'm so fucking _ugly_ , like, like I'm an animal or something, like my skin and my stomach and my thighs and my ass are -- "

Dasom grabs her harshly by the wrist and yanks her down onto her lap. "You think -- " she starts.

"I _know_ ," Bora shudders. "I know what I look like, I'm not blind, I know that you could do so much better but you still insist on fixating on me like I'm some kind of toy and it's, it's -- "

"You are not a toy," Dasom says, letting go of her wrist and gripping her face painfully with both hands. "Bora, I would _never_ \-- "

It's hard to talk with Dasom's hands on her face, but she grits out, "You think you know everything about everyone, Dasom, but you don't; don't tell me you'd never when you have, when you _do_. You think you have a read on me twenty four seven when you don't."

Dasom relaxes her hands, one falling limply into Bora's lap and the other cupping her cheek, strangely gentle. "Bora, I love you, and I don't think -- I don't _own_ you, and how could _you_ not want to do better? You, you've had boyfriends, and you're so fucking beautiful, and I don't want to lose you to them, I'm so _sick_ of losing -- "

They sit like that, Dasom's hand still cupping Bora's cheek, her other hand cool on Bora's heated thigh, until someone hesitantly knocks on the bedroom door.

"Are you okay?" Soyou asks, and Bora is suddenly immensely grateful that it's not Hyorin.

"Yeah," Dasom says hoarsely, quietly. "Yeah, we're fine, _unnie_ , thanks."

Dasom waits until Soyou's retreating footsteps are no longer audible before she knocks her forehead against Bora's. "I'm sorry," she whispers. She hasn't raised her voice once, but she still feels a phantom soreness in her throat.

"We're so messed up," Bora groans softly in lieu of an apology. "Can we just sleep on it and talk about this in the morning?"

Dasom hums an agreement, her lap feeling too empty when Bora lifts herself off of it, and then -- "Can you sleep with me tonight?" she asks. "It's a tight fit, but..."

Bora doesn't answer, but she crawls under the covers, playing idly with Dasom's hair, and Dasom feels something in her chest loosen.


End file.
